


Why do I care?

by sundaystyle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Angst, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Feels, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:52:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundaystyle/pseuds/sundaystyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had been watching him destroy himself, one drink at a time, for too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leave me alone.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pamelaroseee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamelaroseee/gifts).



> The wonderful "theseniorcitizen" on Tumblr, whose fics I absolutely adore asked for a gift. I'm not a very talented writer, but I thought of it as a chance to make her happy! This was her prompt, hopefully she'll like it. 
> 
> "I saw a gif set once that gave me an idea of him becoming an alcoholic after one of their missions (maybe something happened like he killed an innocent person or someone who was under mind control like him once) and Natasha comes over to talk him out of it but this is like during the part of their relationship where they haven’t labeled it yet. So same old, “why do you care?” Then they talk some and somehow end up fighting. He kicks her out (or she leaves) but comes back the next day to set him straight and they fight about him and what happened and them and his drinking and their love then release the cute!"

Natasha’s eyes followed the fingers curling around a glass, tinted by the colour of the liquid inside, a dark brown that she recognized fairly well- could smell it even without actually smelling it. She watched as Clint downed it at one go, his expression sour as he calculated it to be not enough and removing himself from his position to change that fact, pouring himself another glass of the drink, even if he recognized the look on her face. He knew she didn’t approve.

A month ago they were at the same place, sitting closer, fingers shyly brushing up against one other- even though neither of the assassins would ever admit it to be reluctant movement. She remembered the spark that hit up on her vein just by a simple touch- it wasn’t the first time their hands were in close proximity, but perhaps it was the way he meant it, the way she accepted, which made it an important step in her life. Just a month ago, she wanted Clint Barton to look at her as more than an asset, more than a partner. Only a month ago she felt his hand on top of hers, and allowed herself to feel human. Clint Barton was the only man she felt like she could be herself around. 

He was a different person than the one sitting in front of her right now. His warm gaze she had come to be fond of had switched to be one that is cold, dark and a stranger. He was blocking her out and it made her feel unwanted, angry and desperate. It was like they didn’t know each other for many years, the way he was pushing her away, and Natasha didn’t know how to unlock those doors he put up.

“Clint.” She spoke up harshly, a frown on her face and a question in her gaze.

She had been watching him destroy himself, one drink at a time, for too long.

“Clint.” She repeated when he made no move to show he heard her the first time. Natasha was about to repeat his name for the third time before he looked up in annoyance, a raised eyebrow that dared her to say something.

Of course, she was nothing if not brave.

“I think that’s enough for today.” 

She watched him look at the drink in his hand, back up at her and then keeping his eye contact with her as he drank the rest, putting the glass down a little bit harshly. She cringed at the loud sound it made against the glass surface of the table. 

Natasha was afraid. She wasn’t afraid in the sense that most people would be, not how you’d be if you were about to piss off a very talented marksman, but she was afraid for him. He was turning himself into a ghost of his past that should never be how he sees himself.

Clint Barton was turning into his father, the man from his stories who he never spoke fondly of. The man who he was glad to hear the news of his death. Natasha knew that person was never who Clint wanted to be. 

It all started 3 weeks ago, a mission they had as 2/3 of Strike Team: Delta. The briefing had been awkward, neither of them used to the idea that Coulson wasn’t with them anymore, but the mission had been easy enough.

Should have been easy enough.

Natasha didn’t remember it much clearly for the most part. Gun shots, the sound of air giving way to the arrows, whizzing and hitting its mark. The screams and shouts, empty threats that she took care of at a split second, sometimes with a punch, sometimes with a shot. 

And then there was the voice in her ear, ringing the alarm bells. She heard it before she felt it, the touch of a hand on her shoulder, and suddenly the man was down to his knees. The last man down, courtesy of Hawkeye- she noted.

Except the last target hadn’t been a target at all.  
Not even a threat.  
Just unlucky to be there.

The reporting had been even more painful, with Clint blaming himself and Natasha not knowing what to say. The words ‘compromised’ were heavy in the air, neither of them willing to spell it out. He thought her life was in danger, hell- she thought her life was in danger. But she would be able to take her of herself.

Crossfire, S.H.I.E.L.D. decided, that the death was the fault of the victim. There should be a code somewhere that says never approach a deadly assassin from behind them. Not their fault, never their fault.

But Clint refused, and nothing they said, nothing Natasha said worked. 

She would explain it to Steve later, when he asked- because he’s a good team leader, and because he’s also a good friend. She would explain it calmly, with no hint of compassion or worry in her voice- and yet Steve would be able to hear it anyway. “Clint, is not a murderer.” She would say. “He’s a soldier, in his mind, he justifies his hits as balancing the world. He follows orders for his country. That’s how it works for him.” Steve nods. He doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t agree from what he knows of Clint, it doesn’t sound like him, but he tries to understand, bless his heart. Natasha knows Clint better than anyone.  
She knows Clint better than anyone ever did, but not the man in front of him now. 

“Clint,” she starts again and he shoots her an angry look. 

“Why are you here?” He cuts her off, annoyed. She sits up, defensively. She knows this tone. She can see his train of thought. He wonders if she’s been sent here, what’s her excuse and if she continues to meddle, who does she think she is.

“I’m worried about you.” There’s no need to hold back the cards of honesty, she decides. She’s not playing a game. “You’re drinking too much.”

“I can handle it.” 

Clearly you can’t, she wants to snap, but thank goodness for her years of training that taught her how to be patient. Because she doesn’t want to test those waters. 

“Clint it’s noon. Your drinking is getting worse than Starks.” Had the situation been any lighter, she’d actually relay him a joke or two by Tony, the creative wit of the genius made it a new hobby to bring it up, about how he’s being drunk under the table by a certain bird.

“Tasha.” The warning bells ring in her mind, she wants to walk away. She’s never been fond of alcoholic men with issues, they tend to take it out on others. And she didn’t want to hurt him. Because she would hurt him, and not only physically but whatever bond they have would be severely hurt as well. Natasha didn’t want that. She didn’t want to fight Clint.

“No.” She stood up to him, her lips a thin line. This wasn’t about what she wanted, because she could let him drink his years away, losing everything that mattered to him and never be on his bad side. But too much were at stake, and she wasn’t going to let him lose himself.

She wasn’t going to let him push her away. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to blame yourself and…” she moved her hands around the room. “this! You never leave this room, never stop drinking and I don’t even know who you are anymore, Clint.”

It turns into a fight. She sees it before it does, and maybe it’s not with their fists and equipment, but it’s a verbal one and his hateful gaze directed towards her hurts more than anything he ever says.

It lasts for at least half an hour, him shouting and her defending herself, defending the Clint she knew. He asks her, "Why do you care? What's it to you?" and he accuses her, "Not everyone can be as heartless as you. You weren't the one who pulled the trigger, were you?"

It ends with one last sentence, by him. Cold, tired, and she has nothing left to say anymore.  
“Just leave me the fuck alone.”

So she does.


	2. Chapter 2

Are you familiar with the feeling where you’re so tired you can pass out but there’s just something at the back of your mind keeping you awake?

Natasha wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and forget what happened, the whole fight with Clint earlier that day. She tried to think of things that made her happy, the ending of a movie she liked, a dream where she got to visit Paris and go shopping, a hand that wrapped around hers warmly- but they all lead her back to thinking what she was avoiding all night. A heavy sigh on her chest and the image of Clint. 

She replayed the conversation over and over again in her head, changed her answers, changed her tactics, and avoided talking to him about it. Her mind raced the time while shouting at her thousands of what ifs. 

Natasha thought bitterly that in some parallel world, they were actually happy, and not pretending to be fine.

Clint had a tendency to bottle up his insecurities even if it killed him. She knew the way he thought of himself, how no one thought of him. Harder than any other critic.   
“Because we’re only human. He’s only human. He doesn’t have any super powers, he can’t keep up with any of us. He tries to, but he also thinks that he’s expendable. I don’t…” She paused her rant, looking up at Steve. “You don’t think that, do you, Steve?”

No one would say ‘We need Hawkeye’.   
No one would say that the man with the bow and arrows would be their only chance to save them.  
And Clint is aware of that. Steve can’t bring himself to say it, can’t bring himself to turn to Natasha and tell her that even without Clint, they have enough good forces as it is. But of course, they appreciate any help they can get. 

She is different, because, well, everyone is aware of her skillset. And if she heals a bit faster than anyone else, they tend not to talk of it. 

But Natasha doesn’t accept that. She is aware of one thing that everyone else chooses to ignore. She needs Clint to be there on the field with her, she needs him to watch her back. She knows he’s the best at building the strategy, a different type of genius than Tony and Bruce- a military insight into their little group. She knows he has a better sight than anyone else, superhuman or not. He’s the best marksman in the world, and that’s not something any of them can rival, not even Natasha. 

She would fight for his sake, she would put all these on the table and tell them how important he is to Avengers, how vital he is, whether they understand it yet or not.  
And then she is back to her bed, laying awake in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling- a shadow of a car light passes through and she watches it move from one side of the wall to another.

His words ring in her ear.  
Even Clint doesn’t understand how important he is to them, to her.

And so he can’t afford to make a mistake. 

She falls asleep sometime during the night, without realizing she even did, waking up to the beeping of her alarm. Not a gentle way of waking up, but she’s used to it. She wakes up with more determination than ever to the day and it only takes her an hour to get ready and storm out of her room.

When Clint opens the door, she knows he wasn’t expecting to see her again so soon, the way his eyebrows raise and something flashes in his eyes. She can’t be sure if it is pain or anger, clearly she doesn’t look deep enough to see it as she pushes herself inside, waiting until he comes over his shock of seeing her and close the door behind him. 

He’s sober now, but probably have a headache, his hair is messy on one side- she could tell he crashed on the couch. She suddenly feels like wanting to fix it, run her hand through his hair, and feel him lean against her hand. She wants to close the distance between them so badly but holds herself back, starting to speak without giving him a chance to ask her why she’s here.

“You asked me why I care.” She said, in a matter-of-fact voice, slightly louder, almost shouting as she kept talking. “You asked me that, and didn’t even give me a chance to tell you.” She was angry, she knew he could tell she was angry, and she could see that without the influence of the alcohol he was about to apologize or maybe cut her words to ask her to drop it, but Natasha wasn’t going to give him a chance. “Maybe it’s none of my business, maybe I have no right to tell you what to do, and maybe you’re right.” 

Natasha stops masking her feelings, because there’s no meaning to it. There’s no reason to pull up the walls of ice when she’s about to let go of the fire burning inside her. Her eyes are full of unshed tears, half of it because she’s really mad the more she thinks about what he told her, the way he can’t see what he means to her, and half of it was because… well, because what he said did hurt, she isn’t going to lie.

“But do you want to know why I care?” She watched as Clint brought himself to a defensive stance, ready to answer. Natasha watched him silently, keeping her distance.

“’Tasha…”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Clint. I see you walking away from us every day and I don’t know what to do and it scares me. Because this is not you…” She started, watching his eyes harden as she continued to talk.

“It’s none…”

“...of my business, I know.”

“I am f…”

“You’re not fine.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

“I know.”

“Just because I’m no---“ 

Clint was ranting, shouting, and defending himself in small sentences as she took a step closer each time he protected himself with his words. It was when she was pressing against his chest that he stopped talking abruptly, to look down at her. Natasha’s eyes were wide, as if even she didn’t know what she was doing. 

For the first time in her life, she decided to do something because she wanted to. Because she deserved it, because he deserved it. And if she had been reading all the signals wrong, well, she’s a big girl who can handle it. 

She looked up from her position pressed against his body, her hands on his chest, her eyes glancing in his. He’s taller than her, with broader shoulders and even though if she wanted he could hand his ass to him, right now she handed her heart to him. 

“Clint I love you.” She spoke softly, broken, tired. “I love you and I hate that you can’t see it, I hate that you’re losing yourself in alcohol, I hate that you think I’m the enemy here and I hate that I have to say this like…this.” Her hands are now fists in his shirt.

“There.” She started to push herself away from him. “You wanted to know why I care.”

She felt her heart break as Clint let her go, marking another point where she realized she’s not worthy. A sexy body, a strong weapon and a good ear as a friend- but that’s what she is, Natasha knew. She just thought maybe this time was different, maybe Clint was different, and he had been- he’d never seen her as a sex object, never treated her less than a human. He had been different, he’s different and maybe that’s why she fell for him in the first place. But she had to see it, just because you love an apple- the apple didn’t have to love you back.

She shook her head sharply when Clint opened his mouth to say something and started walking towards the door, only slightly embarrassed of her less than perfect confession, embarrassed that she put him in a difficult position and she sincerely hoped that they can go back to being friends- and she sincerely hoped that at least he’d consider stopping drinking himself to a liver breakdown. 

She was lost in thoughts that she didn’t realize her hand never made it to the handle of the door. 

And suddenly her heart stopped.

 

A few seconds later she realized that strong arms were around her, a body pressing against her, holding her up because her legs were weak. Clint was kissing her, a warm, soft kiss that didn’t demand anything, not clouded with passion but one that is familiar, safe and welcome. 

“Sorry Nat.” he was muttering in between kisses.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” She felt each of his kisses between each of his promises and chose to believe him. 

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back, reluctantly, but not afraid to. 

“You’ll be fine.” She said, promising only that.  
“I’ll be fine.” He assured her. “I’ll be fine.”

It wasn't fine, and they weren't fine.   
But Natasha was willing to mark it down as a good start, at least.


End file.
